


No Shirt Or Shoes Required

by dream56



Category: Original Work
Genre: Armpit Kink, Cocky Top, Dirty Talk, Dominance, Foot Fetish, Foot Jobs, Jock and Geek, Locker Room, M/M, Original Character(s), Pit worship, Scent Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Sweat, musk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:47:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22489657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dream56/pseuds/dream56
Summary: Gym hookups with Hunter went one of two ways: fucking or fucking with a twist. Dylan assumed the odds were good for the second option.
Relationships: Hunter (BaphometBimbo)/Dylan (BaphometBimbo)
Kudos: 16





	No Shirt Or Shoes Required

Dylan reread the text again.

“ _Meet me at the gym. Get ready for a workout.”_

It had been a week since his last run-in with Hunter. That meeting had consisted of getting fucked in eight different positions, several of which he had previously thought were against the laws of gravity. So overwhelming was the cocky jock’s personality that even reality itself seemed to bend to the whim of his massive cock, the same delicious dick Dylan was only too happy to bend towards himself.

He wet his lips remembering the size of the head in his mouth, the taste, the _scent_. He leaned against the outer façade of the gym, one leg nervously jittering, his shoe sole up against the wall. He’d fucked before at this gym, locked in a single stall with Hunter, his nose buried deep in the dom’s post-workout pits. Had Hunter intended to replicate this scenario? Either way, Dylan bobbed excitedly, yearning to hear the bro bend him over and lather him in filthy talk, laced as it was with sideways compliments.

“Keep you waiting?” A voice said beside him.

Dylan startled. “No, no, not at all. I just got here.”

“Good, come on, let’s get started. I’ve got something fun in mind.” Hunter entered the glass double doors and Dylan slipped inside behind him before they’d closed. Gym dues paid, Hunter strutted toward the work-out floor with Dylan curiously following. When they stopped by the treadmills, Dylan quirked an eyebrow. Did Hunter expect them to fuck _here_ with _so many people around?_

“Do some laps for me, sweetheart,” Hunter said, lightly slapping Dylan’s face a few times. “Gonna be worth it.” He twiddled with the dials and sliders until the machine amped up to a generous speed. Dylan quavered in his hoodie, shorts, and sneakers.

“I…I’m not in that great—“

“ _Come on_ ,” Hunter repeated, “get on. Get all nice and rank. Sooner you do, sooner we get to the real fun part.”

Dylan hesitated but complied, climbing onto the moving belt and pacing to match its rhythm. It wasn’t bad. He turned his head to see Hunter already walking toward the weights area. The blond jock flashed a grin over his shoulder and Dylan flipped his head back forward, blushing. He gripped the sidebars to keep steady and focused on walking, hoping his anticipation for whatever fun Hunter had in mind for later wouldn’t make itself _visible_. The bouncing movement of his gait helped.

Hunter lied back on the bench, already thoroughly warmed up from the jog there. Each tug of the weights, he lifted a little to spy on the twink he’d set on the treadmill, his butt almost teasing him. He’d have to keep an eye on him. No telling what kind of degenerates would be prowling for that kind of meat. He smirked.

A good half hour passed and Dylan felt out of breath. He’d lagged a bit a couple times already and felt the crinkling of burning pass through his legs, the stiffness dissipating and transitioning to pleasurable heat. His attempts to check his imagination hadn’t been entirely successful, his restraint agitated by the adrenaline. The pounding of each step seemed to mirror the thrusting pace Hunter used the last time they’d been here, hard enough the slaps reverberated in the small stall, sending a half worry through his lust-addled head that somebody would hear. The other half of the worry was that he wasn’t giving his full attention to the musky manpower filling his senses and the room.

By the time he’d reached the limit of his self-control and was tempted to slap the power-slider, he jumped as Hunter slid a hand across the button panel and switched the machine off. Dylan teetered forward for a second, momentarily weak by the inertia which had propelled him to persist. Hunter swung an arm around Dylan’s chest, the bicep covered with a fine sheen of sweat.

“You get all good and sweaty for me?”

Dylan nodded, the damp patches on his neck and forehead an indicator of his overall condition.

“Good, let’s hit the locker room. We could use the change.” Hunter half pulled, half led the adrenaline-dazed boy toward the back, into the rows and rows of lockers interspersed with spare slick wooden benches. The further back they went, the less activity there seemed to be until finally they arrived at a corner with nobody at all and well veiled from the casual passerby.

“Here looks good,” Hunter said, scoping the single bench. He sat, man-spreading gloriously, a hefty presence pushing an outline through his gym shorts. Dylan, red in the face, waited.

Hunter flexed, lifting his arm to expose his left wet pit. “You gonna get started or what? I don’t got all day.”

Dylan drew forward, entranced like a bee to nectar, instantly nestling his nose in the clutch of blond hair. The spreading sour scent of sweat overwhelmed him as easily as it had the first time, as it did every time, the pert, pungent aroma working its way wisp by waft by wisp into the corners of his consciousness. He could swim in the scent, each duly sniffed draft heady with currents of crisp bite, overflows of subtle salt, underflows of glowing bitter body resin, drawing out the natural nourishing smell of Hunter’s built body.

Hunter brought his arm down a bit, pressing against the back of Dylan’s head and wedging him deeper into the sweaty nook. The saturated dark blond tufts brushed Dylan’s lips and he accepted them, gorging on the pit as if its excess sweat were sweetest ambrosia, a fragrant gift meted out by this bro’s ample desire to be worshiped.

Hunter judged how mussed Dylan’s hair was getting, how wrecked he’d look when he emerged, surfaced from the sweat-soaked cranny of his arm, and he grinned. There was something of an art to demolishing a well-put-together hookup, taking it by degrees, intensities, until all composure crumbled and what remained was a well-pleasured mess. He was just the sort of stud who enjoyed reducing polished guises to raunchy real desires and did so by doing what came naturally: telling people to enjoy him. It helped when he shoved his cock in them though.

Dylan drew back boozily, eyes glazed with bright gleaming lust.

“Done already?” Hunter asked. “I think you can do better than that.” He shoved Dylan’s face into his chest and Dylan merely opened his mouth again, obliging whatever surface he contacted with the white heat of his tongue. He licked between Hunter’s pecs, guided as Hunter spread his fingers against the nape of his neck, pushing down, down, further down, ab to ab, muscle over muscle, until Dylan had collapsed to his knees, nose hitting the waistband of the revealing shorts, tongue already gone beneath it.

Dylan raised his eyes, the effect the same as his rolling his eyes back, all senses trained on the nexus of Hunter’s crotch. He was content to remain there forever, mouth open, spit soaking through the sheer perforated fabric, gaze taken up by the radiance of Hunter’s amused face, his own legs and back slumping lazily down as he sloped in between the jock’s commanding thighs.

“Wanted you to get a taste first,” Hunter said. “Now let’s get to the fun part. Sit up.”

Dylan did as he was told and Hunter pulled him up by the upper arm until they were both sitting on the bench. Hunter pointed.

“Why don’t you take those suckers off?”

Dylan followed Hunter’s finger.

“My shoes?”

“Yeah, I wanna see how talented you are with things other than your hands,” Hunter said.

“But I sweated a lot jogging like that…” Dylan said.

“ _That was the whole point, butternuts,_ ” Hunter returned, dragging both of Dylan’s feet up on the bench, effectively turning the twink sideways.

Dylan slipped out of his sneakers, the heel offering some resistance before eventually allowing his sock-shorn feet to pass. He wiggled his toes. Hunter grinned.

Hunter lifted one foot up, the damp grey spread of sweat fresh on Dylan’s sole. He pressed the foot to his face. Dylan felt a shiver of fire rise up his spine as Hunter guided his foot downward until it reached those same, undeceiving shorts.

“You ready to impress me?” Hunter asked.

Dylan nodded, sliding one foot each into the wide leg holes of the shorts, quickly meeting Hunter’s cock which was hard and ready to greet them. Clumsily at first he wedged his toes toward that fat jock dick, unsure what level of pressure would be preferable, eventually settling on something firm but not forceful. He stationed his feet at the base of Hunter’s cock, working them up his shaft until the cock stood tall in the shorts.

Gingerly at first, Dylan inched his feet up and down, feeling the foreskin do most of the work. Gradually he grew more confident and stroked quicker, longer, his feet going so far as to lift his calves off the bench as he swept up and down Hunter’s huge cock. He adopted different methods once one felt used up, swaying Hunter’s cock to the left, then to the right, in an elliptical stroke, his soles guiding the dick around as the head brushed against the fabric of the shorts. He also tried moving each foot as counterbalances, one up, one down, the result a far rougher footjob.

Hunter pushed his bangs up, taking a breath. “ _Make me cum,_ ” he said.

Dylan had the image flash across his mind of a luscious load wasted on his feet, sticking to those gym shorts instead of sticking to the back of his throat. A pang of remorse flitted through him simultaneously. Maybe if he _teased_ Hunter enough…

He moved one socked foot underneath Hunter’s balls, nudging them up until he could have them rest, glorious and heavy, on his toes. The cummy cargo inside would fill him up he knew and he wanted it there instead of anywhere else, even inside those massive nuts.

Gently he flexed his toes, digging into Hunter’s taint, massaging the sack that draped over his foot, each fat nut full of nourishment, hot jock milk ready to be extracted. With his other foot, Dylan worked up from the base of the shaft, angling around the huge cum tunnel, ascending the tower of cock bit by bit, pressing it between Hunter’s body and between his first and second toes, scaling up the impressive inches. He stopped at the head, pinching it between those two toes, his foot making a balcony for the lip of the head.

Hunter grunted, “ _Don’t make me fill that pretty little hole of yours.”_

Dylan blushed. It was working.

Dylan pivoted his foot, toes still pinching the crown of that fat cock head, until his whole sole rested against the shaft, the damp arch meeting the heavy inches in a completed curve. He lightly pushed his foot forwards, pinning the dick to its owner’s abs, then began to make short, rough, sudden twinges up and down, grinding his foot into Hunter’s cock, his heel moving down enough to press into the elevated sack below, another reminder, each time he felt his ankle brush against it, how brimming and beautiful it was.

Hunter, far from discomfort or annoyance, issued a subtle shuddering breath, tense and testily erotic between his teeth. He gripped the sides of the bench, intrigued as much as aroused by the sudden backbone this easily provoked twink had grown. It wasn’t much arithmetic to arrive at what Dylan truly wanted, but Hunter had had other things in mind...yet the harder Dylan dug his toes in, the better he could feel the sweat-wet socks plunge down against his shaft, a growing, glowing pool of pleasure was taking up more space in his mind every second.

In a moment, Hunter seized Dylan’s ankles, hauled them out of his shorts, and was bending over the surprised twink.

“Did I do it wr—“ Dylan began before Hunter, annoyance and arousal spitting embers in his eyes, put his mouth on Dylan’s and cut him off. As Dylan surrendered to the feverish force of Hunter’s tongue, felt the jock angle forward and tilt him back until his spine rested flush with the bench, his legs helpless handles as Hunter pushed them back as well, the dom’s elbows interlocking with the skinny boy’s knees, he sensed the tension shift.

Hunter began to grind his huge, barely concealed cock against Dylan’s crotch. Each ravaging pulse molten iron, decadent sparks of sunspots clouding Dylan’s eyes with unspent gold glitter. He registered the thought passing through his head of how weirdly easy it was to toy with the jock on top of him, how much easier it was to tempt him when he wasn’t himself intoxicated by the intense scent of Hunter’s every masculine intersection.

The jock released Dylan’s lips for a moment, a thick connecting thread of spit trailing a bead of saliva down from Hunter’s bottom lip onto Dylan’s tongue. Dylan breathed, the air a hush thick enough for words but lacking them.

Hunter finished the thought, “ _I’m gonna fuck you now.”_

Firm fluid movements followed, both shorts lowered sufficiently, Dylan’s ass hoisted at an approachable angle, Hunter’s cock lined up, and shorn of ceremony, Hunter forced his cock into Dylan’s hole. The twink was well prepared, had even the benefit of history in dealing with Hunter’s huge dick, the ordeal of the fat luscious head as it dug in, passing all argument, paving the way for the rest to follow into the delicious heat of Dylan’s ass.

Dylan did his best to accept the first thrust in full, knowing Hunter’s favorite sight was his wang worked all the way in, his claimed bottom’s balls brushing against the thick patch of his damp pubic hair, half the thought that boys were lining up gaping to accept his well-trained shaft, the other half that he loosened them up himself.

A little of both was true in Dylan’s case and the twink felt his lung capacity halve as his hole filled up with cock. He never got used to Hunter’s hung girth but was always open for more practice.

The first few thrusts, a result of inevitable tightness, were more Hunter teetering back and forth on the bench, one slat in the middle groaning, his cock moving less than Dylan’s entire bottom half, lifting higher then sloping back as Hunter nudged forward. Irritated, Hunter jerked Dylan’s legs higher, bent his thighs further back against Dylan's belly, and thrust his cock deeper.

Thus began the right rhythm, the familiar fuck-pace they’d both grown accustomed to, the brilliant battering of short jolts syncopated with long _shluck_ ing spikes of Hunter’s thick shlong widening Dylan’s ass to meet his thickest point, the diameter of his dick dictating the decisions of Dylan’s hot hole. Hunter could do whatever he pleased with the spellbound twink underneath him. He could _break_ him. _Bend_ him. Have him over every morning to clean his cock before he got out of bed or stationed loyally underneath the table in the breakfast nook while he had coffee and shouted at whatever unlucky pledge passed between the kitchen and the hall of his frat.

He could do whatever he wanted. And what he wanted…

“I’ve been thinking about this all week,” he said, mid-thrust.

Dylan looked up to see Hunter peeling his socks off. He felt a wave of embarrassment slide up his body, cold on his back, hot on his chest, as the jock, still circling his hips in an easy pistoning motion, brought Dylan’s now bare feet to his face.

“I _knew_ you’d have cute feet,” he said, rubbing his nose against Dylan’s naked left sole. He breathed in, the sensory barrage slowing his thrusting only slightly.

“I-I’m…they’re a little…”

“ _Just how I want ‘em,_ ” Hunter finished for him. He sped back up, cutting off any chance for Dylan to respond as he shut his mouth before a moan could spill out. Hunter brought the foot he’d had his face against further down, slipping his lips around several damp digits and sucking the twink’s toes. This proved too much for Dylan as Hunter fucked him harder, darting his tongue in between the spit-slick toes in his mouth.

Hunter couldn’t believe he’d held out this long when this twink’s feet had been there for him this entire time. He couldn’t decide whether they were the best thing he’d ever had in his mouth, but for the moment, as he slurped on the plump toes, the adorable digits so perfectly shaped and smooth, he couldn’t conjure anything better.

Dylan had had plenty parts of his body sucked before, each producing their own splendor of sensations, a smattered scattering of spindly pin-pricks bending across his body the first time he’d had his ass eaten, a warm flush washing textured over him like seashells drawn back in the sea across his skin the first time he’d gotten head, but there was no near equivalent for having someone suck his toes with such obvious relish. He’d also failed to realize how _sensitive_ they were. Every pass of Hunter’s tongue seemed somehow magnified, pointed pleasure seeping in between his toes, threading between them. Patters of oily heat coursed through his thighs, into his hips, and shattering up to his heart, spreading through his pecs, a wild encasing sensitivity invading his body, the discovery of something delicious his body could render him he hadn’t ever experienced.

Hunter was nearly as impressed. By now each thrust was followed by a more furious fuck in succession. He slid Dylan’s other foot toward his mouth and released the toes in his mouth in favor of licking Dylan’s full sole on the fresh foot. He could feel his balls connecting with the twink’s tense cheeks, his seed-bearing sack so ready to send spurts of spunk sailing inside, to baste the interior of this boy with his thick, creamy semen, and soon he’d be one load lighter and the twink's cute ass that much heavier. For now, he kicked into a higher gear and sped harder, the blood roaring in his ears, the hot steam of nearby showers on the other side of the room making the space clingy with the overwhelming scent of men.

He tucked both of Dylan’s big toes into his mouth and sucked hard as he planted his cock harder, eyes shut, forehead dripping, and came. Dylan could fill the new weight, the hollow of his stretched hole made out for this, room made to store the boatload of man milk emptying into his ass. He could feel the hard knot of Hunter’s nuts hitch up and jig, twitch tense as they slung slurry after sloppy slurry of steaming semen cock-deep inside him. By now, Hunter was barely moving, his dick head perhaps only floating, buoyed, on the pool of spunk it had flooded Dylan’s hole with. After a long moment when they both were sure there was no more cum for Hunter’s sack to spend, the jock tilted his head back, disconnecting his mouth from the twink’s toes with a pop. He held those wet soles against his chest and looked down at the man he had beautifully disheveled beneath him.

Dylan, body a cluster of fading burning lights, gave a weak smile in return. Hunter slid back, the now slick bench assisting him and Dylan instinctively tensed, keeping his hard-won cum prize collected inside, the only bit escaping that still stuck to the jock’s cock head.

Hunter laughed, looking around, the after-glory of a good fuck feeling identical to a victory. No one appeared to be nearby or, if they were, made no intention to show it. The blond bent down and roughed Dylan up with a sudden kiss, spitting on Dylan’s tongue then pushing in. Hunter couldn’t tell now in the afterglow whether he liked Dylan’s toes or tongue better or whether, once he had a look at him, he didn’t like the twink’s whole body best.

He pulled back, grinning. “Come on, let’s get cleaned up.”

Dylan wearily shuffled his shorts up over his ass, taking a moment to absent-mindedly fix Hunter’s crotch as well. As the tall blond helped him shakily pass toward the showers, Dylan decided he’d wear sandals the next time Hunter invited him out.

**Author's Note:**

> OCs Belong to BaphometBimbo.


End file.
